


Situation Normal: All Fucked Up

by blueabsinthe



Series: A Room at the End of the World [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boys Being Boys, Come Shot, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Implied Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, New York Rangers, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueabsinthe/pseuds/blueabsinthe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael never imagined all the complications his life would take on after sleeping with Steven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Situation Normal: All Fucked Up

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/816216) by [boltschick2612](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltschick2612/pseuds/boltschick2612). 



> Because boltschick2612 wrote [Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces](http://archiveofourown.org/works/816216), and I just had to take and run with Michael's view of events. This can be read as a standalone, I think.

The early morning light finds Michael navigating New York City's streets. He had always been an early riser, but he knew the real reason why he awoke so early. And, it didn't help that said reason was currently sitting in the passenger seat of his car. 

Steven is staring out of the window, the early morning light gleaming off the glass. It casts an eerie sort of light across Steven's face. Michael can hear the sounds of car horns, and the rumble of traffic around them. The sounds are disembodied, but still ring nicely in Michael's ear. He finds them somewhat calming, despite the chaos that is his jumbled mind. 

They part at the entrance to the hotel where the Lightning are staying. Steven glances back at Michael one more time before his hand fumbles on the door handle. Michael can see the war raging on in the depths of Steven's eyes as their eyes lock. Michael tries to come up with something to say, but the only thing he can bring himself to say is: _Safe travels_. He knows he should say more, he knows he could say more, but his words all seem candied together. He wants to reach out and touch Steven's cheek, and whisper everything will be all right against his ear, if just to hear Steven's voice hitch at the action. 

Steven steps wordlessly from the car.

The moment passes, and Michael watches as Steven walks away.

\--

Steven had been Michael's first time with a guy. He's still fuzzy on the details. Okay, that statement is a blatant lie, if they were being honest. He knew damn well how many years it had been since his first time with Steven. He can recall every flash of colour, every sound. He remembers the soft click of his hotel room door as it shut. The hurried movements of Steven's hands as they moved over his clothing. Even after all this time, though, there is a stillness surrounding the memory.

Michael remembers it so vividly, not because it had been his first time with a guy, but because of _when_ it occurred. Five years ago, at the 2008 entry draft. He almost misses it when the Lightning management draft Steven. But, sure enough, he watches as Steven makes his way on stage, pulling on the Lightning's sweater a few minutes after he is done shaking hands with the organization's leaders.

Michael's happy for him. Really, he is. And he just knows Steven's going to go far in the NHL. 

He was selected twentieth overall by the New York Rangers at the draft. 

They hadn't really had much time to talk, or anything on the day of the draft. Both had media obligations, and signings to attend. But, eventually, they end up finding each other in the crowd. Steven's all smiles, and Michael cannot stop the way his knees go slightly weak when Steven pulls him in for a congratulatory hug.

Michael isn't quite sure how they ended up back in his hotel room. Only, he was sure if they hadn't been running high on adrenaline, everything may have been different. Then again, maybe not. He likes to think if they could go back and do it all over again, they would still end up in his hotel room. Steven would still look at him with his blue eyes as bright and clear as the sky on a cloudless day, and whisper his name in the dim light of the room. He would still cling to Michael's body as he trembled and fell apart. 

Being with Steven that night felt like he was in some long drawn out waking dream. Even the numerous times afterwards when they were together, Michael always went back to their first time. 

And, five years later, he sometimes has to stop and think about everything. Michael thinks one day, he will wake up and realize the past five years have been a dream.

Which is why he has learned over the years to not take anything for granted. Time and memories can disappear almost as quickly as they come. He knows almost immediately what Steven is trying to tell him when he tells him about Steve Downie. Michael knows it should not make his heart sink as much as it did. After all, it wasn't as if he and Steven had ever declared anything to one another. He tries for the first little while to hate Steve, but he cannot bring himself to hate someone who makes Steven's face light up like life, light, and summer. The way it always seems to be when he's around Steve. 

Sometimes he does still wonder what would have happened if Steven and him had declared themselves to be something. Would they still be together now? Would he be the one who made Steven smile as brightly as he did? Maybe they would be the ones complaining about all the miles and distance separating them during the season. Maybe, maybe, maybe …

Maybe everything would have happened differently that night after the Rangers win over Tampa. 

He had let Steps, and McDonagh drag him to the bar. After setting a beer bottle in his hand, with assurances it was on them, they disappeared into the crowd. Michael knew Boyle came too, but he couldn't seem to locate him. He was about ready to call it a night and his eyes automatically started searching the crowd for either of his companions, when his eyes fell on a familiar crown of blond hair. In the dim light of the bar, Steven's hair was like spun gold. It made Michael think of the hot summer sun on the lakes back home in Ontario. 

He found himself crossing the floor to where Steven was sitting, all thoughts of taking off fleeing his mind as he neared Steven's side. Michael should have known better than to get involved in whatever war was raging on in Steven's mind as he watched Steven try to smile, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Steven.

" _You wanna talk about it_?"

He almost doesn't recognize the voice as his own until he hears Steven's phone beep. 

With an accidental brush of Steven's fingertips against his as he watched Steven get to his feet, Michael knew he was lost.

" _Let's get out of here, DZ_."

Even as he watched Steven slide his phone into his pocket, Michael feels a familiar shiver of anticipation as it made it's way down his spine. And, he tried to stamp down the feeling, he really did, but one look at Steven's fiery blue eyes, and Michael lost all train of coherent thought. 

Mistake number one was ever agreeing to leave the bar with Steven. Mistake number two was hailing a cab and suggesting his place, so they could talk. Mistake number three was ever letting their bodies get as close as they did when Steven had his mini-meltdown. Mistake number four … well, he stopped counting when they ended up laying next to each other on the bed. Michael knew he was a goner the moment Steven's fiery blue eyes met his. 

Michael never felt so unsure of anything in his life until the moment when their eyes met, and electricity cracked between them like an arc flash. Even after all the years, Steven still had a hold on him. Although, if he was honest, Steven never actually _stopped_ having a hold on him. Not even after Steve Downie effectively replaced him, and Michael resigned himself to memories of Steven. 

Which, was all Michael really had ever since last seeing Steven in New York. 

Memories. 

It had been a little over a week since the Lightning had been in New York, and Michael's memories were still haunting him. The sheer volume of them constantly left him reeling. He would have liked to say his gameplay hadn't suffered, but he knew it had. Despite reassurances from his teammates, he knew he could have played better. 

When he realized they were scheduled to head back to Tampa, Michael was almost dreading the prospect of seeing Steven again. Before that night, Steven and him had usually kept in touch via text messages. Except, for the past week, Michael had been ignoring them. Steven was nothing, if not, persistent. Michael always admired that about him. Now, as he settled himself into a seat on the team's chartered flight to Tampa, and heard his phone chirp happily, he half-wished Steven's persistency would reach its limit. 

_See you soon, even though you're avoiding me._

Michael bit his bottom lip, and leaned his head back against the seat. He shut his eyes in an effort to erase Steven's words from his mind. It didn't work. When he felt someone nudge his shoulder, he slowly opened one eye, and then the other, his dark eyes falling on Brad's inquisitive ones.

"You okay?" Brad's voice was even, but Michael could hear the hidden message in Brad's simple two worded question. 

_You can talk to me anytime_ , he may as well have said. 

Michael quickly averted his eyes to his phone, where Steven's latest text still lay unanswered. He bit his bottom lip, and turned his phone off. "You wouldn't understand," he whispered quietly.

Brad's eyes looked slightly haunted then, Michael thought as he allowed himself to look up. He offered Brad a small smile in an effort to keep the conversation light. "Sorry, man."

Michael spent the rest of the team's flight to Tampa either fumbling with his iPod, debating between deleting all the unanswered messages from Steven when they landed, and half-listening to his teammates idle chatter. 

He just wanted to forget. He wanted to forget anything that had happened almost a week prior. He needed to forget about the way Steven looked at him with his candy floss blue eyes as they darkened to an almost navy colour. Michael wanted to forget the way Steven touched him. He needed to forget the way Steven's lips almost seemed to brand his skin as he ran them over every inch of his body.

Forgetting about Steven was all well and good, except if Michael was completely honest, he didn't want to forget. And, therein lay the problem. Steven was … unavailable. This was more than ten shades of wrong, fucked up, and, yet, Michael found the more he dwelled on his memories of Steven, the more he didn't want to let go.

So, was this what people referred to as _situation normal: all fucked up_? Because, Michael found it was the best way to describe his current state of mind. 

He could think of a million reasons why he should walk away from getting involved with Steven. They were all good reasons too. Michael liked to think he'd done a good job thus far of _trying_ to walk away. Except, Michael was sure not answering Steven's numerous texts did not count as a good job. 

The bus ride to their hotel was equally as quiet as the flight. Michael spent the majority of it staring out the window, lost in his thoughts. The sky was clear, the clouds looked almost airbrushed against the open blue sky. 

His self-imposed reverie was disrupted by the sound of his phone as it buzzed from the pocket of his jeans. He forced his attention away from staring out of the bus window so he could read the text.

_Why are you ignoring me?_

Michael bit his bottom lip, and exited his text messaging screen, before he slid his phone back into his pocket. He could tell Steven was hurt; he would have to be stupid not to notice it in his simple text. Michael hated hurting him like this. But, it was for the best. It was all he could allow himself to do. 

He needed to get Steven out of his head. Needed to forget his eyes, his kisses, his hands. It was the only way he could think of to get both of them out of this relatively unscathed. He couldn't let Steven in any more than he already had. 

He got one more text from Steven when they arrived at the hotel, just as he was boarding the elevator. He let his fingers hover over the keys as he debated finally texting Steven back, but at the last minute, he gave up, and tucked his phone back into his pocket. 

Michael couldn't seem to come up with an appropriate response. After all, the words 'I'm not avoiding you' didn't really seem like they would fly, considering it didn't take a genius to figure out that was exactly what he had been doing ever since Steven and the Lightning had left New York.

Michael thought he felt the weight of someone's eyes on his movements, and he glanced up, only to notice Brad eyeing him speculatively. He averted his eyes, but he couldn't seem to let go of his phone in his pocket. 

It had to be like this. It had to. Michael had no other choice. 

Michael slept restlessly that night, his dreams all consumed with memories of Steven.

" _Make me forget … please. I need you to make me forget_."

" _You never stopped being mine_ …"

Steven's words ring in his mind. They sound hollow in his ears as he lay in the dark of his room, his hand outstretched towards his phone as it lays silently on his nightstand. The position of his hand reminds him of the first night he spent at training camp shortly after being drafted. He was restless that night; not unlike tonight. There was a nervous tension bleeding through his limbs then, and he had wanted desperately to call Steven.

In the end, he hadn't called him. But, now, Michael wanted to. He wanted to pick up his phone, and dial Steven's number, if just to hear his voice. Maybe that would be enough to calm his thoughts. 

He rolls onto his side, lets his hand close over the phone, listens as his thoughts get louder with each passing second. The memories of that most recent night with Steven swell in his chest. He feels nauseous, and dizzy. 

Michael gets his phone unlocked, but he can't bring himself to dial. Eventually, he resigns himself to shutting the device off, and setting it on the nightstand. He tosses and turns restlessly for the rest of the night. 

The next morning as they headed to the arena for practice, Michael's phone chirped happily from the depths of his pocket, and he pulled it out to glance at the screen.

As he slides his phone away, Steven's latest text of _catch me after skate_ unanswered, he notices Brad had glanced over to look at him.

"If you want them to leave you alone, you should consider telling them to just lose your number," Brad says, a teasing lilt to his tone.

Michael can almost feel his cheeks flame, and he takes to staring intently at the ground. "I … I don't want them to lose my number," he finally whispers quietly. 

"You don't want to talk to them, but you don't want them to lose your number," Brad says, and he laughs lightly. "That's balanced." 

Michael bites his bottom lip, his fingers scratching his jaw nervously. "It's complicated."

They were just entering the Forum, when Michael looked up. And, of course, because the world seemed to hate him enough at that moment, he saw Steven walking slowly towards them. Everything moved in slow motion then. Steven had a baseball cap on, and he was clutching the strap of his bag with one hand. The other hand was shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He looked worn out, and Michael half-wondered if he was at least partially responsible for Steven's present state. 

Michael kept his eyes averted from Steven's guiltily, and he straightened his spine minutely as he and Brad neared him. Brad was silent next to him as they neared, and as they brushed past Steven, Michael snuck a quick glance at Steven, before he continued on his way. The hurt he saw in Steven's eyes would haunt him for a long time, he realized.

"Clearly," Brad said simply.

"Hm?" Michael asked.

Brad shrugged. "Clearly it's complicated." 

Michael knew his cheeks were red. Brad wasn't stupid. Anybody with half a mind would know something was up with him and Steven after that silent exchange.

Brad nudged him, before they continued on their way down the hall. "What gives, anyway? Thought you two were friends?"

"Richie," Michael practically snapped, and winced at the tone his voice took on. "It's nothing you'd understand," he said quietly. 

The haunted look was back in Brad's eyes, Michael realized as they stared at each other in silence. Michael knew about Brad's childhood days and early career years with Vincent Lecavalier. He would've had to have been living under a rock otherwise. He knew about the rumours, the speculation, and the whispers behind cupped hands. Had he ever believed them? Up until that current moment, Michael could usually laugh it off, and brush it aside. Now, he found there was a niggling curiosity in the back of his mind that only intensified the longer he stood there staring at Brad.

"You'd be surprised at how much I'd understand," Brad whispered, before he patted Michael on the shoulder and continued on his way down the hall, leaving Michael staring after him.

Michael tried to focus during their afternoon skate, reasoning it would be enough to control the chaos that was his jumbled thoughts. Of course, that would be like asking for it to snow in Tampa in August. By the time they took to the ice for the game, Michael was ready to write everything off. 

His eyes kept picking Steven out in the crowd, the bold white _91_ standing out against the blue of his jersey. It was like he was a magnet that kept pulling Michael towards him. Michael hated himself for not being able to let go. And, better yet, since when had he ever let anyone make him feel like Steven did? Steven was so off-limits it hurt, and Michael hated himself for allowing himself to feel the way he did. 

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he barely realized when he turned over the puck, and the Lightning got a breakaway. Hank stopped it easily, and Michael tapped his shin pads in thanks, before he skated towards the Rangers bench. 

"Get it together," he silently scolded, before he took a seat.

His next shift, he was thoroughly pissed off, and so ready to raise hell. Near the tail end of his shift he landed a bone jarring hit on Steven. The check was clean, they both knew it, and as Michael skated away, he finally allowed his eyes to meet Steven's. Steven's eyes were wistful, brimming over with hurt as he got unsteadily to his feet. Michael forced himself to keep his eyes cold and distant as he made his way towards the bench, the weight of Steven's fiery blue eyes burning holes into his back as he went.

Michael could feel Brad staring at him from his spot on the bench. His stare was assessing and penetrating in its intensity. Michael dropped his gaze to stare at his skate laces, despite knowing every emotion he ever had was probably evident on his face.

Even when the buzzer sounded to end the game, Michael's thoughts were still a jumbled mess. He supposed he should have been more happy, considering the win, and all, but, Michael was still in a dour mood.

They weren't scheduled to leave for Sunrise until tomorrow morning, and Michael half-hoped he could sneak back to the hotel and sleep. He showered quickly, and brushed off various invitations from his teammates to go out for at least 'one round'. Michael slipped from the room and hurried off down the hall, his thoughts nipping at his heels as he went. 

He pushed the arena door open slightly, but stopped short when he heard voices. 

"You know it's not a good idea for you to come by tonight, Vinny." 

Michael stopped dead in his tracks as he heard Brad's all too-familiar voice float towards him. Part of him knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but the other part of him couldn't seem to move.

He heard as Vince chuckled softly. "Don't say things like that, Brad."

"Vinny …" Brad's voice trails off, and he inhales sharply. "This isn't happening anymore. Jesus Christ, Vinny, what part of that don't you get?" 

"I know you never mean it when you say it. It's always the same old story. The end result is always the same. We stay apart for a while, then somehow we end up back together."

Vince murmurs something Michael cannot hear, and he tries to catch at least part of the exchange. Instead, he ends up leaning too heavily on the door, and tries to hide his stumbling feet as the door swung open. 

Both Brad and Vince turned towards the sound. Michael shifts uneasily on his feet as he slides his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. 

"Sorry," he starts, "thought everyone had taken off."

Vince shrugs, and pats Brad on the shoulder, before he walks away without so much as another word.

Brad turns to stare at Michael. Michael still hasn't moved from his spot. "How much did you hear?"

"Nothing," Michael lied. "What was all that about anyway?"

"Communication breakdown." Brad smiled wryly at him. "But, judging from what I saw earlier between you and Stamkos, I'm sure you know all about that." 

Michael should have been more angry at Brad's observation, but he sighed and kept his eyes trained on the pavement. "Like I said. Complicated."

Brad rolled his eyes, before he crossed the space separating them, fingers curling around Michael's wrist. Before Michael could react, Brad was practically pulling him across the lot. 

Michael barely registered when Brad managed to track down a cab, and all but shoved him into the backseat. He turned to glare at Brad, his words dying on his lips when he saw the look Brad was giving him.

"You have an address for Steven?" Brad said through gritted teeth, before he settled into his seat. 

Michael rattled off Steven's address to the driver, before he slid his eyes to look at Brad. "Richie, I don't -"

"You're not going to talk for now. You're just going to listen," Brad said in an authoritative tone. It was a rarely used tone, but Michael knew better than to argue.

Brad looked at Michael, the penetrating stare of his amber brown eyes made Michael slightly uncomfortable. "Look, I don't know exactly what's going on with you two, even though I have a pretty good idea, but quite frankly, whatever it is, you're behaving like a juvenile child." 

Michael opened his mouth in protest, but immediately shut it when Brad held up a staying hand. "This entire time you've been so self-absorbed in how this all affects _you_ , instead of stopping for one second to think about the other person involved in all this." 

Brad sighed, and leaned his head back against the seat. "Just who exactly are you more mad at here? You, for giving in to something you want? Or at Steven for making you realize it to begin with?"

Michael was silent as he let the weight of Brad's words sink in. Brad was right, he realized, as his eyes slid to staring out the window. Headlights of passing cars cut through the darkness. "It's complicated," he muttered weakly. The words sounded hollow and meaningless now.

"Complicated? How so?"

Michael felt his cheeks flame. "It's just that … things went a lot further than intended."

Brad's eyes narrowed as he stared at Michael. His gaze was assessing as they ran over Michael. "I see."

Michael shifted in his seat. "So, you and Vince …"

Brad frowned slightly. "It's been finished for a while."

"Didn't look that way," Michael blurted out.

Brad chuckled. "I thought you said you hadn't heard anything."

"We're going to argue semantics now?"

Brad's lips are set in a thin, imperceptible line. He looks like he wants to say something. Instead, he sits in silence next to Michael. The silence is long, and slightly uncomfortable. Their position was one of inviting confidence, except Michael's mind was spinning with Brad's words, and memories of Steven.

The minutes seemed to tick by agonizingly slow. The road and buildings pass by in a blur, and Michael almost doesn't realize when the cab comes to a stop, and he realizes they had arrived at Steven's condo. 

"Look," Brad started, his tone was gentle this time, "whatever it is you decide, someone who you've known for as long as Steven at least deserves to hear it from you in person."

Michael stares at Brad, but Brad's expression is unreadable. He can't help but feel like Brad had timed his statement to coincide with them arriving at Steven's. Which, really, shouldn't have surprised him all that much, considering how long Brad had lived in Tampa for.

He's not sure how much time passes before he finally decides to speak. The sound of his phone interrupts his train of thought, and cuts off any other forms of speech. 

Michael manages to get his phone out of his pocket. He reads through the text, before sliding his phone back into his pocket. Brad seems to know who the text was from, even without Michael having to explicitly say so. 

He fumbles with the door handle, and looks over at Brad. "I still don't know what I'm going to say to him," he confesses. 

"You'll know," Brad says, a slight smile gracing his lips. "Now, get out of this cab, before I push you out myself. And don't worry, I'll cover for you."

Michael offers Brad what he hopes passes for a grateful smile, before he climbs out of the cab. The walk towards Steven's door seems to stretch for miles. Michael feels lightheaded and like he should be out of breath by the time he reaches Steven's door. When he does arrive there, he raises his hand, fully intent on knocking, but his thoughts seem to catch up to him then, and he drops his hand to his side. 

What was he supposed to say? Somehow, his immediate thought of apologizing didn't seem like it would be enough. The words sounded impersonal, and cold to his ears, and he ran a hand through his hair, before he let his palm rest against the back of his neck. His other hand was braced on the wall, and he kicked at his left shoe with his right. Maybe Brad was right. Maybe he would just _know_.

It takes Michael another couple tries of raising his fist to knock on the wood of Steven's door, before he finally bites the bullet and does.

He can hear the sound of locks being undone, the hammering of his heart in his chest cavity just adding to his already shot nerves. Michael can't bear to look at Steven when the door finally opens. He keeps his eyes trained on the concrete of the ground, and the tops of his dress shoes. 

Michael feels as Steven shifts, and can hear as his door opens further. He crosses slowly into Steven's apartment, feeling the weight of Steven's eyes on him the whole way. Michael doesn't meet Steven's gaze, but he turns when he hears Steven sigh. Steven has sunk back against the wall. He looks worn out and defeated. His eyes are closed, his lips set, and Michael can tell Steven is trying to come up with something to say.

"Didn't expect you so soon," Steven finally says. 

It really shouldn't be difficult to supply Steven with an answer, it really shouldn't, but Michael still takes a couple minutes to try and calm his thoughts. And, oh, Christ, why was this so difficult? He kicks at his left foot, hearing as the sound echoes off the tile and in the silence of the room. He finally allows his eyes to meet Steven's. The blue of Steven's irises look like the swirls in marbles. They halt all forms of Michael's speech. Everything he could ever possibly say seems to leave his body. Michael finds it is a miracle he even manages to recall Steven's previous statement as he finally finds his voice. 

"I was already out, hanging with Richie," Michael started, finding it easier to say the words if he didn't look directly at Steven. "He had the cab drop me here. Said he'd cover for me."

Michael notices as Steven visibly tenses at his mention of Brad. He takes a tentative step forward, and silently relaxes when Steven makes no move to stop him. They have never really had secrets from each other, and Michael always wondered where the compulsion to share everything came from. Except, he was quite sure if he told Steven he'd discussed their private business with Brad, it would create a gap Michael was sure would be irreparable. 

"Steven," Michael started, forcing himself to keep the tone light, "it's okay. I just told him you wanted to catch up. That's it." He offers Steven a small smile, but forces his lips into a thin line when he notices Steven isn't laughing.

"Did he buy your Oscar-worthy performance of not knowing who I was earlier?" Steven snaps.

Michael notices as Steven visibly winces, and he has to stifle his laughter, feeling as the nerves set in again. He kicks at his shoe again, before he turns his head towards the door, his fingers scratching his jaw in silence. It is a nervous habit; one Michael knows Steven has seen countless times before. 

"I deserve that," Michael says, and sighs as he lets his hand fall to his side. "I'm sorry, Steven, I just -"

"You're mad at me. I get it," Steven surmises. 

Michael is visibly trembling as he brings a hand up to run through his hair. If Steven notices, he doesn't say anything. As he mulls over his exchange with Brad in the cab, and feels the weight of Steven's gaze on him, he realizes Brad had been right about knowing what exactly to say. Up until now, everything seemed scripted, forced. Now, Michael was sure he could say what he needed to say, and not worry about the fallout. 

"I was mad at myself," he clarifies.

Wordlessly, Michael bridges the distance separating them, and brings a hand up to rest on the wall beside Steven's head. Steven's eyes feel like lightning touching his skin, and Michael feels his knees tremble. 

Steven's response of 'for' is one word, but it is enough to cause all of Michael's thoughts to tumble out of him. 

"For letting everything go as far as it did that night. Letting myself fall for someone who was never mine to begin with."

"Jesus Christ, DZ," Steven says, and pushes Michael away slightly. "Stop saying shit like that. I get enough of that in my professional life. Contracts being sold to the highest bidder. I would think you'd understand the kind of a toll that can take on a person." Steven's hands are balled into fists against the front of Michael's dress shirt. "I'm not a possession, and Steve Downie doesn't own me."

Michael places his hand on Steven's wrist, in a calming manner. He waits until Steven visibly relaxes under his touch, before he slides Steven's hands away from his chest. "Steven, shh … I get it." 

He leans forward, bringing a hand up to cup the side of Steven's face, dark eyes intense as he watches every little flicker cross Steven's eyes. 

"Have you talked to him yet?" Michael's tone is soft, burrowing its way under Steven's skin.

Steven shakes his head. "No. I haven't talked to him in … weeks."

Michael's lips twitch in amusement as he says, "Seems to be a lot of that going around."

The atmosphere around them seems charged. The nervousness is gone from his limbs, and he stares unblinkingly at Steven. Michael is transfixed on the slight hint of colour marring Steven's pale cheeks, and the sound of his heart as it beats wildly in his chest. 

He is suddenly hyper-aware of how close they are standing. Michael can see Steven's pulse as it jumps in his neck. He can see the questions building in Steven's eyes, and he can't think of anything else to say, so he leans in and presses his mouth against his. 

The meeting of their lips is catalytic. Michael practically melts into Steven's body. It's the type of kiss a person never wants to end. It is like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. Steven wraps one arm around the back of Michael's neck, fingers tracing the spot where spinal cord and skull meet, and he shivers as he hears the sharp intake of Michael's breath.

Michael eventually pulls away, resting his forehead against Steven's as he catches his breath. Steven slides his hands so they are resting in the crooks of Michael's arms, and he sighs. The space between their bodies feels like an enclosed, sacred space. The words lost to air getting trapped the longer they clung to each other.

"What now?" Steven finally whispers.

"That's something you have to decide on your own," Michael says.

"I hate when you're right," Steven says, a slight hint of amusement colouring his tone.

"When was this type of situation supposed to come with an easy button?" 

Steven lets out a choked laugh, the blue of his irises dancing as the weight of Michael's earlier words rush past his ears. "So what's this I hear about you falling for me?"

Michael smiles, the words come easily now. "Not falling. Fell."

"Oh," Steven says, before he lets his fingers curl around Michael's wrist, thumb brushing across the sensitive skin of Michael's inner wrist. 

Michael feels Steven tug gently on his arm, and he meets Steven's eyes questioningly. He knew what Steven was asking, but part of him still needed to hear him say it aloud. A silent reassurance that Steven wanted him as much as he did. 

"C'mon," Steven finally says, his voice husky.

His feet seemed to move of their own accord, but really, Michael wasn't making any attempts to stop them. He would follow Steven to the ends of the earth if he could. 

"Last time wasn't enough?" Michael jokes. 

Steven's eyes are hauntingly vulnerable then. "It never is with you."

They fumble up the first couple of steps; every time one of them breaks apart from the kiss, the other leans in again. Michael kisses like he is starved for Steven, fingers tangling wildly in Steven's hair. He stumbles at the entrance to Steven's bedroom, before he pushes Steven against the wall. 

Steven's breath leaves his body in a whoosh, and he whimpers. Desperate little pleas that sound like 'yes', 'please', and 'Michael' leave his lips, and Michael watches as he bites on his bottom lip. It is a nervous motion, but Michael thinks it is the most erotic image he has ever seen. He lets his lips leave Steven's mouth to travel down past his jawline. He kisses Steven's throat, teeth scraping over the tendons in his neck. 

Steven's hands fumble blindly at the buttons on Michael's shirt, sliding it down his arms frantically. Michael tugs Steven's shirt up and over his head shortly after. 

Michael presses his hand against the crotch of Steven's jeans, watching as Steven's irises darken considerably. "Steven," he says, lips hovering over Steven's.

"Please, Michael. Oh, please -" Steven's hands scramble over Michael's chest, before he kisses him again. The kiss is open-mouthed, bordering on slightly desperate. 

Michael tugs the button lose on Steven's jeans, before he drops to his knees in front of him. Steven cannot help but think how Michael looks almost angelic in that instant, and he lets out a small whimper.

Michael looks up, and feels his breath catch as the dim lighting in Steven's room encircles his head like a halo. Steven is all soft, muted edges, his eyes as blue as the sky on a clear day. "Steven," he whispers, breath tickling Steven's clothed thigh as he runs his hands up the backs of his legs. He feels Steven's legs tremble under his touch, as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Steven's jeans, and pulls them down his legs. 

Steven's fingers tugged insistently on Michael's upper arms as breathy little pleas leave his lips. "Michael …"

Michael shifts, rising so his mouth is resting against the flat planes of Steven's stomach, the tip of his tongue dipping slightly into Steven's navel. He feels Steven's hands come up to rest on his hair, fingers threading their way through the slightly dishevelled dark curls. 

"Oh, please, Michael … please …" Steven's hips seem to move of their own accord as he tries desperately to get Michael's mouth on him again. 

"Easy, Steven …" Michael says, before he slides his mouth to Steven's hipbone, pressing chaste kisses against the thin skin. 

"Easy for you to say," Steven hisses, his eyes sliding down to meet Michael's. 

Michael laughs slightly, his hands cupping Steven's hips as he tugs him closer. His mouth moves over Steven's abdomen before it continues down, closing around the outline of Steven's cock through the thin cotton of his boxer briefs. 

"Jesus shit, Michael," Steven gasps, fingers tugging insistently on Michael's hair. 

MIchael's mouth leaves a dark stain on the crotch of Steven's briefs. Steven trembles and exhales shakily as he manages to tug his underwear past one hipbone. Michael pushes it down the other, sliding the cotton to the floor, before his tongue is against Steven's thigh. His skin is slightly salty, and he still tastes like the lakes back home in Ontario. A wave of nostalgia runs through Michael's veins as he brings his dark eyes up to lock on Steven. Steven nods his head slightly, seeming to know what Michael was asking without him having to say anything. 

Steven looks so fragile in that instant, Michael almost - _almost_ \- stops touching him, afraid if he put even one finger on him, Steven would break. Steven's eyes are wide, pupils blown so much, Michael can barely see the blue of his irises. He trembles, tiny little shudders that start at the base of his spine and travel upwards. 

Michael presses a kiss to Steven's hip, and listens as Steven whimpers. Breathy little pleas that go straight to Michael's groin. He gets his lips wrapped around the head of Steven's cock, dark eyes staring intently at Steven.

Steven sighs and his head falls back against the wall as Michael sucks him into his mouth in a hot, wet drawing pull. 

Michael curls the fingers from one hand around Steven's cock, holding him steady as he slid his mouth down the length. Steven's legs shake, and he makes unintelligible noises as Michael's mouth works an absolutely maddening rhythm on his cock. Michael slid the thumb from his free hand into his mouth, wetting it, before he slid it between Steven's legs, pressing it over Steven's entrance. Steven's grip in Michael's hair tightened, and he arched his back in an effort to get Michael's mouth further down his length. 

"Michael … fuck. Oh, shit. Fuck .. keep doing that."

Steven makes more noise than anybody else Michael has been with. The sounds rush through him until the only thing Michael can think about is the way Steven's hands scrabble against his skin, fingernails clawing desperately at his forearms. 

"Michael … Not yet … C'mere."

Michael pulls off of Steven's dick, and let Steven pull him up to a standing position. Steven kisses him greedily, still a hint of desperation colouring the edges. Steven is hard against his thigh, and Michael reaches down to curl his hand around Steven's cock.

"Oh," Steven breathes, "please, Michael, please -"

"Anything you want. Anything," Michael says, mouth hovering over Steven's. 

"You. Just you. All I need is you," Steven manages to get out.

Michael lets his hands fall away as Steven undoes his belt and unzips his pants and tugs his underwear off until he is naked in front of him. He lets Steven lead the way towards the bed, and wordlessly falls against the sheets. 

"Michael." Steven slid back onto his knees and rose, trailing his hand down Michael's torso. 

Steven's body was all tautly defined muscle, a slight sheen of perspiration clinging to his bronzed skin. In the dim light of his room, the light was almost halo-like around Steven's flaxen coloured hair. Michael was utterly bereft of speech as he stared at Steven, his hands running down his arms, like he was trying to memorize every little detail of Steven's body.

Steven curled his fingers around Michael's wrists, tugging his arms gently. "I'm lost in you" he confesses. "Can't stop … can't stop touching you." 

"Steven," Michael whispers, before he pushes up and scrambles into him, pressing the bare skin of their torsos together. "Then don't."

Before Steven can say anything else, Michael tangles his fingers in Steven's hair, and kisses him fiercely. He turns their bodies, so Steven's back was against the headboard. Michael straddles Steven, the hand nearest the nightstand drawer fumbling impatiently to get it open. Steven's hands have moved, so they are flat-palmed against Michael's back, his mouth moving over Michael's jawline, and down the creamy column of his neck. 

"Steven …" Michael's voice trails off as he manages to get his hand around the bottle in Steven's drawer. 

Steven's hands seemed to move everywhere then. Michael cupped his face in his hands, and flicked his tongue across Steven's lips, revelling in Steven's taste, his scent. He was utterly consumed with him. He barely noticed when Steven slid the bottle from his grasp, and slicked his index and middle finger. 

Michael groaned as he felt Steven's fingers move between his legs, the tips of his fingers sliding inside him. With his free hand, he cupped the back of Michael's head, and drew his mouth down to his. When Steven slid his fingers all the way inside him, Michael's fingers dug into Steven's shoulder, and all the small, whimpering noises he makes get swallowed by Steven's mouth. Steven fingered him leisurely, seemingly content to watch Michael tremble and come undone for him. 

"You're always so responsive when I touch you," Steven murmured, as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of Michael's body.

Michael whimpered, fingers clutching Steven's shoulder, as he bit on his bottom lip in an effort to contain his cries. "Steven …" He circled his hips against Steven, gasping out his name over and over like a prayer. 

Steven's free hand was splayed against Michael's hip, gripping tightly. So hard, Michael is sure there will be bruises there later - five - to be precise, where Steven's fingers and thumb dig in. He keeps his grip tight as he holds Michael in place, restraining his movements. 

Michael clutches Steven's shoulder brutally. "Steven," he growls, voice low and husky. "Do you … I didn't … I don't have any …"

Steven's body trembles slightly as he laughs. "We're a little past that, Michael."

Michael's eyes catch and hold Steven's as he slicks his hand with lube, before reaching for Steven's cock, wrapping his fingers firmly around the base. He pumped Steven slowly, watching intently as a bead of pre-come appeared at the tip. He brought his thumb up and pressed it against the head of Steven's cock. 

Steven groaned, head falling back against the headboard, his fingers continuing to move inside Michael. Michael worked Steven's cock maddeningly slow, watching as another bead of pre-come rolled down the length of Steven's cock before it came to a rest at the top of Michael's fist. 

"Michael … if you keep doing that, I'm not … I'm not going to last."

Michael reached behind him with his free hand, curling his fingers around Steven's wrist, and slowly withdrew them from his body. "Do it. I'm yours, Steven."

Steven curses as Michael slides his hand over his cock one more time, before he grabs Michael's hips. Michael holds the base of Steven's cock steady, and slowly starts to sink down onto his cock. 

"Michael," Steven moans, hands gripping Michael's hips tightly. "So good … fuck, you feel so good. Knew it would be like this … how it always is with you … fuck, Jesus shit, Michael."

Michael leans forward, mouth catching on the side of Steven's mouth. "I know, I know, I know …" He brushes Steven's damp hair away from his temples, before his lips press against the side of his head. Michael is almost positive he can feel the thrum of Steven's pulse against his lips. 

Steven drives his hips upward, breathy moans leaving his lips as Michael clenches tightly around his dick. "Oh, Michael … god … fuck, you feel so damn good."

"Steven," Michael whispers, hands splayed across Steven's shoulders to steady him as he rose and fell on Steven's cock. "Fuck, yes. Don't … don't stop."

Steven gripped Michael's hips, angling him in such a way that Michael sunk all the way down to the base of his shaft. He bit his bottom lip, the grip on Michael's hips allowing him to control the angle, and the depth of Michael's movements. "All of me … take all of me. Make me yours." 

"Jesus shit, Steven," Michael hisses, but he keeps moving above him, letting Steven set the rhythm, as his hands scrabble desperately across Steven's sweat-slick skin. 

Eventually, Michael can't take it anymore, and he reaches for his own cock, hand moving over himself roughly. "Steven, fuck … fuck, I have to touch myself … don't think I'll be able to stand it if I don't … oh, Jesus fuck." Michael's eyes flutter wildly as his orgasm builds, his whole body clenching.

"Fuck yes," Steven says through gritted teeth. "Come for me, Michael. I want you to come on me. I want to feel it on my skin."

Michael's back bowed as heat ripped through his body. He came hot, and hard against his own hand, his come spilling over his fist and down his length. A few stray droplets pooled on Steven's abdomen, and Steven groaned as he thrust upwards into the welcoming heat of Michael's body, before he came in a hot, thick rush inside Michael. 

Steven wasn't sure how long it was before either of them moved, only that when he finally does allow his eyes to fall on Michael, Michael is staring back at him, dark eyes speculative.

"I can't tell you what to do, but …"

Steven sighs, and frowns. He should have known this was coming, but why now? Why did Michael have to bring it up now? Why did he have to bring up the none too pleasant memory of Colorado, and Steve?

"Now? We're going to do this now?"

Michael rolls onto his back, eyes staring up at the ceiling, his words almost getting lost to the air. "Sorry, let me clear my calendar so we can talk about this."

"Be serious, Michael."

"I am. When do you think would be a good time? In the car ride back to the hotel before we leave for Sunrise? Or, oh, I don't know, after, when I'm back on a plane jetting off to another game?"

Steven wants to reach for Michael. Wants to run a hand down his cheek, and press a kiss to each of his eyelids and tell him everything will be all right. But, Steven knows better. He knows everything won't be all right, and he still has no idea how to fix it. "What would you have me do?" he whispers quietly.

Michael hesitates a beat too long, and Steven pulls himself to a sitting position, half-turning so he can look directly at Michael. 

"It … you can't have both," he says lamely. Michael really doesn't know what else to say. It hurts knowing he is sharing Steven, and part of him knows this is what he was mad at himself for in the first place. He could never bring himself to hate Steve Downie for owning Steven's heart, and yet, he still resented the fact that he had to share Steven. He still isn't sure which is worse. Knowing Steven had burrowed his way so deeply inside him, or knowing no matter what he did, somehow he would still be pulled down by the weight of everything.

"Michael?" Steven's tone is questioning, his eyes searching Michael's for an answer.

And, something in Michael grips him, and holds him suspended. He can't stand to see all the pain and torment in Steven's eyes. His blue eyes are dark and haunted and Michael wants to make it go away. So, he reaches for Steven, wraps his arms around him, and presses a kiss to the crown of Steven's hair.

Steven clings to him with one hand, breaths leaving him steadily as he listens to Michael's heart beat rhythmically against his palm. "So, what now?" 

"I don't know," Michael answers honestly. "Just let me hold you."

Steven wishes he could say he fell asleep easily, but he lay next to Michael, eyes staring up at the ceiling, listening as sleep claims Michael.

He turns his head slightly, the fringe of Michael's dark lashes in stark comparison to his cheeks. "What will become of us?" Steven whispers to Michael's sleeping form.


End file.
